


don't mind us we're just spilling our guts

by sultrygoblin



Category: Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: Dorks in Love, F/M, Flirting, thinly veiled subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23944945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot - it’s not so much fighting as a demented form of courting
Relationships: Herbert West (Re-Animator)/Original Female Character(s), Herbert West/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	don't mind us we're just spilling our guts

**Author's Note:**

> me and my bf recently marathoned re-animator. i have this guy and a few other ideas. i’m also working on a daniel one. because his hair in bride of re-animator is...umph!

Herbert has never considered how exactly he manages to always have the clean tools he needs, the food that’s always there for him, and Dan, the dishes that are always done, the laundry that never seems to pile up. Though he takes dominant consideration of any paper moved even a half-inch, regardless of if you were still all there, he’s happy to hurl words then but nothing about the spotless house. Dan thanks you often, with that smile of his. Every so often he offers to pay you back with dinner. He’s kind, attractive, intelligent in his own right. If you were any other girl you would no doubt be champing at the bit for an evening with your roommate. Unfortunately, the Platonism of your friendship was firm. The same could not be said of your acquaintanceship with the enigmatic Herbert West. It’s why you put up with is ravings, why you didn’t make a sound when he berated you for moving anything, and the reason you seemed so desperate to impress him with the few skills you had to offer someone like him. It made you feel like a little girl again. Doing anything and everything just to get a boy to notice you, always to no avail. You may not have been as intelligent as your paramour but even you should know that if he hasn’t noticed you by now, it’s unlikely he ever will. You know that but somewhere in your brain it gets scrambled; the wording had made you laugh the first time, every time after it had seemed so succinct. One day he would notice or you would die – hopefully for good- and that would solve all your problems. Until then you paid rent, kept a clean house, and mentally timed how long you stared at him to make sure each look was a socially acceptable length. 

As long as he was looking. That’s what had gotten you in trouble with Dan. Herbert wouldn’t be paying attention to you for hours. There was no harm in following him with a dreamy gaze, and your imagination allowed itself to wander occasionally. It was during one of these little mental outings that you -perhaps only- friend made his way to the basement. You had almost fallen off the stool when you finally noticed the hand waving in front of your face. It felt far too cartoonish and you felt sheepish as soon as the doctor had shushed the both of them. Thankfully, you hadn’t spoken about it and the dinner invitations had stopped. Both felt like very positive things. Two weeks of bliss, well, as close as one could get when the basement was full of body parts but that was always going on and easily ignored. There even seemed to be less to do around the house which was an odd horse but you were not about to look in its mouth. Though it now came with a free time, you had never quite expected, there was never a moment to spare when it came to their home – and their lives- and suddenly there were far too many of them. Some of them had been filled with helping Herbert or attempting to go out and have fun, which always ended in the former anyway. By the end of two weeks, you were sick of it. Being ignored for doing well, being berated for minuscule mistakes that only mattered to him, and literally no one else. 

For the first time in two weeks, you take some real-time for yourself. Picking up your favorite dinner and munching it down before taking a long bath in the bathtub, you still hadn’t had the time to perform your own tests on. The water stayed warm and you were able to sink in the water up to your shoulders with everything remaining under the water. You dared to throw a few drops of scented oil in it before making yourself more than at home. It was exactly what you needed, warm water in a dim bathroom and melancholy music crooning softly from the radio. There wasn’t anything outside the door, there was just this, and this was perfect. At least it had been.

It’s not even a knock, it’s a pounding on the door, “What?” was all you could manage, more than a little annoyed.

“I need you.” If only.

You rolled your eyes, scooting a bit deeper into the water till it hit your neck, “I’ll be out in an hour!” He’s always telling you to just ‘go do something else‘ when he became frustrated at you for his own failing, now you were, and he could wait to make you feel miserable.

“What on Earth could you be doing in there for an hour?” the sheer confusion in his voice not at all surprising, “Are you ill?”

At this rate he was going to ruin your good time either way, “I’m taking a bath,” hoping that will be the end of it.

But no, he has to fight, “A bath?” he has to have the last word, “Baths are for children.”

“Of course you are,” you grumbled, rolling your head along with the towel you’d been using to cushion it so you could look at the door, “I thought I was in the way,” you say instead.

“I need someone to take notes,” his voice frustrated, words rushing together, as if you are the rude one for inconveniencing with an activity he considers ridiculous, “Can a bath possibly be more important than this?”

“Yes!” you shoot back without thinking, you have a confidence from behind a closed door you hadn’t expected to have, “You have made it quite clear that sentience is the only thing that puts me above your tape recorder. Use that!” if you couldn’t have him that way, being blatantly angry with him seemed to at least ebb some of the tension.

“Sentience is exactly what I require,” you growled low in your throat, yanking the chain with your foot to remove the plug, “It’s not as if the tub is going anywhere.”

“Fine!” but it has that bite, you climb out of the tub, not bothering to dry yourself and instead of yanking the t-shirt over your thankfully dry hair and the thin sleep shorts, “God forbid I take a few hours to myself,” water streamed down you body causing the clothing to cling and drips of water to follow in your wake, “Please,” throwing the door open, “How may I serve you?” it’s the first time you’ve dared be so contemptuous when he was paying attention. That was normally left for your own mad rantings to yourself before throwing yourself back on your bed with that ache in your gut.

This wasn’t that. His mouth opens, flippant response poised on the tip of his tongue as one always seemed to be and then silence. It gave you a sense of pride knowing that the man who always had a piece of his mind to give seemed unable to cut off a slice. But it unnerved you. Perhaps you had opened your mouth a little too wide and spoke a bit too honest, he frustrated you to no end and it was inevitable. But perhaps it hadn’t needed to be so… pointed. Not that you would be apologizing, regardless of what came you had to hold your ground because he was looking at you. Really looking at you, it seemed. Eyes narrowed and brows furrowed behind those glasses you found both endearing and abhorred. So many of your feelings towards Herbert seemed conflicted, instead of fighting you joined and created so many dark hybrids you were sometimes surprised you had any of your sanity left. 

“I believe you’re supposed to dry off before dressing,” it’s his words, his thoughts, his voice, and it lacks all the bite it once did.

“You made it seem like a matter of death and death,” stepping around him you made sure to watch him from the corner of your eye.

“You’re being dramatic,” but he hurried in front of you towards the door all the same, eyes down but not seemingly pointed at anything, “Always so dramatic.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t realize being at your beck and call was on the rental agreement,” shaking you head and closing the door as you followed him down the rickety steps, careful of you bare feet on the old steps, “Cold!” nothing could save you damp feet from the icy floor and you hopped back up on the step.

“As I said,” shoving the journal and a pencil in your hands roughly, “Always so dramatic.” 

Despite what you felt or what you thought, an objection would have come from you if you had been allowed the opportunity to fully absorb what exactly happened. You were on the bottom stair, in the air, and then on the lab table. There was only one way it could have happened but your mind didn’t take it in. Herbert was already bent over a microscope, rattling off to you, and it would be far worse to deal with what would happen if you missed anything. Your objection could be voiced later, if by that point there even still was one. You wrote, trying not to let your mind wander to how you had finally been able to release your frustrations, and nothing seemed different. Though you had the quick reminder, from yourself, of course, that to be heartsick that would have to be the case. And heartsick did seem to be your primary characteristic at this point. At least in these few moments. Your hand moved across the page, you remind practiced and taking the words in while spitting them out with no regard for their meaning. The concept is all you needed to understand, the nitty-gritty was far beyond your understanding and even if it were, you wouldn’t want to be a part of it in that way. There was too much guilt attached to the full knowledge of what was happening here. At least, that’s what Dan had told you. 

“It was rude of me to interrupt your bath,” his tone that of a child forced to apologize but no one was making him, “You’ve been more than helpful and I have been incredibly inconsiderate,” looking up from the microscope, that same look on his face, “Even Dan takes you to dinner occasionally to make up for it all,” as if you’d become something completely different upon opening that door.

“He offers,” you corrected, feeling no need to respond to his politeness with the sarcasm he had done to you own, “I don’t want him getting the wrong idea,” which is the closest you’ll ever get to honest about the subject when discussing it with him.

You might’ve noticed if you paid attention, but you hold that in tight and close. Even in your most scathing moments, it feels too close to the truth and you dare not expose that to him. You don’t quite know what would happen but words like simpering and infantile twist with the phrase schoolgirl crush in that voice that somehow always made you feel so small. You had turned your eyes back to the paper, making sure all the writing was legible, erasing, and rewriting the words that weren’t until you were sure he must be back to his work. At least now your feet were no longer damp, and you were prepared for the cold temperature of the unfinished floor. Slipping out of the basement was probably the easiest thing in the world, especially when Herbert was double burning of the candle was hyperfocused. Setting the journal on the table beside you, the pencil between the pages in case it managed to close, you knew it was time to steel your nerves for the freezing cold that would be unavoidable if you wished to return to some sense of normality. 

Except he’s still looking at you, “What idea?” that same look that was unreadable look he had when running a new test.

Where all you could make out was something inquisitive, “What idea do you think?” you laughed lightly, hoping it would ease the nervousness now taking refuge in your belly.

That smirk, “Not often a woman isn’t interested in Dan,” the one that says he’s gotten exactly the result he’d been hoping for.

It’s a strange trap to be in. You can leave any time, there isn’t anything really stopping you but a few uncomfortable steps. But that comes with an implication, a secondary message that isn’t what you want at all. It’s easier to sit here, feeling ever so slightly like a new experiment than to run off and ruin any chance at all. Right? Nothing really sounded right or wrong since he had traipsed his way into all their lives. There were things you do and things you didn’t do.

“Then he’ll be fine missing out on one,” the wording isn’t lost on you but you are forced to act like it is, it wasn’t what you meant but trying to take it back would only dig a deeper grave, “You’re uncharacteristically interested?” it was better to volley back, helplessness would get you nowhere good with a man like Herbert West.

He laughed, that little scoff of one in the back of his throat, “You think so?” you nod was confident even if you didn’t feel that way, “I suppose you’re right. We only seem to talk about work,” you can’t help you snicker, “Something funny?”

“That is quite a liberal use of the word we,” hands gripping the edge of the table, fighting the urge to swing your legs.

No obvious outlets of nervous energy, “At this rate, it might be best if we started from the very beginning.”

“Was that a joke?” you left leg swung, then you right, and at that point there was no escaping it so you might as well enjoy the vague release, “This is all very unusual. Which, as you can imagine, is quite a high bar at this point.”

“Have I done something to offend you?” you might have believed him if he hadn’t seemed so earnest for your answer, completely oblivious to what he’d originally dragged you down here for.

You shake your head, “Comeuppance isn’t generally a fun activity for the condemned,” this perks his attention.

You might not have known if he hadn’t very slowly begun to remove his glasses, “You didn’t seem like the kind to give absolution, but all avenues must be explored.”

“That sounds more like you,” trying not to seem as focused as you are on his first step forward or his second, “What is this current hypothesis?” 

Another and another, till he stands at the end of the stairs out of reach. Not if you were to move, of course, but that was most certainly not an option. You weren’t going to touch him. This would turn out to be something very different from what it seemed like. Later tonight you would close your eyes, slide a hand under the blankets, and imagine the way it could’ve ended if you dared. The problem is thinking about doing it later still caused your body to react in this moment and while none of the other signs were obvious to him, you somehow knew your pupils must be blown. It’s not a thing a man who’s entire livelihood hinged on signs of consciousness missed. You hooked your bare ankles around each other, suddenly stopped slowing pendulous swinging of your legs, and your knuckles began to lighten as you grip tightened. 

“I can’t tell you that, ruins the study,” it’s that flippant tone he uses far too often, but it seems somehow purposeful now, “Which defeats the whole point of having one,” deliberately meant to prod rather than reactionary.

“I wasn’t aware I was in one but that is too often the case with your particular brand,” he seems almost giddy that you don’t seem at all surprised or displeased, but as quickly as it appeared it hid behind stoicism.

He sets his glasses down gently on the wooden corner just beside him, “You don’t find Daniel attractive?”

“Do you?” you shot back quickly with a raise of eyebrows, you’ll take bemusement over stoic any day, “I suppose he’s fine to look at.”

“Fine to look at?” he laughed, it wasn’t particularly amusing and you wonder if the laugh is more of that obscured giddiness, “I’d hate to hear you describe me,” he doesn’t have to say it, conversation doesn’t require it.

“How would you describe me?” you’re growing sick of being needled by his roundabout way to wherever it was he was trying to go. It seems easier to stop volleying back and create your own offense, “You said yourself you’d hate to hear me describe you.”

It throws him off balance, it isn’t often you are given the opportunity of the upper hand and you’ve held it twice now, “Perhaps hate was a strong word,” you shook your head, clicking your tongue as one might an insolate child, “I should know better, shouldn’t I?” this time you nods, not sure if to provide a sense of discomfort or because you didn’t trust your own voice.

These next steps are deliberately slow, a predator finding its best angle to pounce. You have no context, which is the most nerve-wracking. If you knew what he was doing, what he wanted you could at least continue to pretend. This was different, not angry or enthused, not even despondent. Simply watching you, the dingy light making his eyes seem blacker and blacker until he stood in front of you, the loose fabric of his shirt brushed your knees ever so slightly. 

“I asked you a question, Herbert,” you pushed in an attempt to gain any purchase between the two of them with mimicry.

He makes an inquisitive humming sound, a quick noise you’ve never heard, “Pulchritudinous,” his answer pointed, believing he had won in both regards; answering and getting away with not answering.

“Prepossessing,” you shot back, not quite sure where it came from or why but certain it was the only response in whatever situation he had squirmed you into, “Even if you’d hate to hear it.”

There’s nothing, not even the reanimated frenzy you had lived, to prepare you for the animal that is Herbert West unleashed. Whatever part of him became untethered in the night, when all but him and his creatures slept, did just that here. Looming over you, pressing your wrists tightly against the table, and teeth clanking against yours with no regard to your bottom lip you’d cut along the way. You can’t gain any leverage with your legs or push back, all you can do is let him. Which you do, blithely. It’s not quite how you imagined, but it’s only a stone’s throw off. You surged forward as best you could to show your impassivity, your leg, now sliding up and up, pressed flush over his hip and down his thigh, joined the performance. He seems to fly back from you, panting, lips swollen and shining with saliva. He pants, watching how you sit up slowly with a smile and a thumb wiping across your bottom lip, catching what blood had been smeared in the brief embrace. There you sit, watching him as if he were the experiment, until his breath evened and that all too familiar calm mask fell into place. He’s anything but. The cracks are so easy to find now.

“You were right, Herbet,” hopping off the table, too high on endorphins to feel the cold already numbing your toes, “You did need me.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always feedback is appreciated. and i am always taking ideas or requests.


End file.
